The Fool's Errand
by Nonetoowell
Summary: Being a belabored knight and a struggling magician are the least of Matthew's problems when he suddenly finds himself on a journey that is far more than what it seems.
1. Prologue

A/N: I got the urge to do a Hetalia Cardverse story (Though I'd say it's more Cardverse "inspired," than anything) quite a while back, but I never had the opportunity to write it because I really wanted to finish my other story first along with certain time constraints I've had. This is probably bad timing on my part, but I got sick of letting this thing just rot on my computer, and actually posting a story is quite motivating for continuing it. So please enjoy, and criticism most welcome!

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Prologue

Matthew wanted nothing more than to collapse. His horse seemed to be of the same mind, slogging its way up the rocky slope with a sluggishness that seemed unthinkable back when he had first acquired him as a willful colt. The armor he was weighed down by seemed to triple the problem, causing him to overheat despite the unusually cool evening settling over the shallow valley. He had even taken off his helmet and tucked it under his arm to try and get some relief, deciding that he was safe without that one item of protection now that he was no longer endangered by battle lusted enemies.

Once at the top of the hill, Matthew looked down, finding himself in a surprisingly strategic position as he could see right over the body strewn battlefield and out toward the army encampments. He could hear the distant barking of dogs and shouts of men carry over to him, as well as smell the billows of black smoke curling upwards like a disease as fires were simultaneously doused and started at random intervals. Suddenly a strong wind kicked up, and his face was so covered in grime that he barely felt it rip past as it whisked away the sounds of the living and the stench of the dead. He took in the new and oddly festive sight of the colorful banners of the three kingdoms straighten out and ripple with movement, somehow not seeming out of place despite the forlorn atmosphere. The cloak draped over his shoulders, heavy with mud and blood, made its own half-hearted attempt to imitate the flags, but only succeeded in falling to the side with the hem snagging on the end of his hauberk and a buckle fastening on his saddle.

Taking a moment to rest in the soft glow of dusk, Matthew spotted an archer running up toward him and waving his hands. He was about to withdraw his sword until he spotted the familiar orange of the Mountain Kingdom under the rusted red caked onto the infantryman's clothes.

"Sir Williams?" the archer huffed, eyes wandering to Matthew's shield and the decoration of a white bear painted on it to make sure that he had indeed approached the right man.

"Aye," Matthew answered with as much authority he could muster, feeling as tired as the soldier looked.

"His Majesty requests your presence at his tent."

Matthew internally sighed. He could see on the archer's face how strange he found it that a knight, especially one of Matthew's lowly station, was being asked for personally by the king. He flirted with the idea of explaining the strange relationship he had with their ruler. That his mother used to lend a confidential ear to the previous king and that their current one had a bad habit of playing favorites and had picked Matthew as 'it.' He could have explained that not only were they something of close friends, but that he also held the same special position as his mother before him and that he was due more formality and respect than the archer was willing to show. But Matthew was in no mood to revel in his own clout, all too eager to hear some news after the hard fought battle.

Giving his thanks, Matthew set off down the hill at a quick but careful trot, picking his way around the bodies being lined up for burial or burning, depending on the respective kingdom's tradition. He approached the bustling campsite of the Mountain Kingdom, passing under an orange banner with the kingdom's diamond symbol, representing the great mountain Léon and its reflection in the large lake at its base.

He quickly dismounted before the mouth of the only moderately sized tent in the sloppily assembled campsite, taking a moment to undo his cloak that was now caught in his horse's rein. Once free, he entered without announcing himself, striding over to a man bedecked in unadorned armor covered with a colorful tabard and a long cloak made of finer fabric than most, muttering quietly over a cramped table filled with scrolls.

His king looked up at the sound of clinking spurs, forming a welcoming and gentle smile for his guest. Matthew frowned at the smile, noting how similar it made them look. He already had a hard time fighting off the rumors of his bastardization, sharing the same dark blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and even same pale skin as his king. He was sure the overt friendliness between them and his family's history in the Royal Court didn't help those rumors either.

"Your Majesty," he greeted with a formal bow, mind stuck on how unusually plain the famously extravagant King Francis looked at that moment.

"Ah, Matthew, I was wondering where you had disappeared to," Francis responded absently, adjusting his once amber colored cloak, now worn and used to the point of appearing brown.

"Have the peace talks not begun?" Matthew asked, watching Francis swallow from a goblet he loftily carried.

"Begun? My dear boy, they are done and the ink on the parchment dried," he informed, licking his lips and aging five years with the stress showing on his face.

"You don't seem to be in a celebratory mood," Matthew said measuredly, his insides twisting and rioting with anxiousness.

"I'm tired. It was a long war," Francis answered wearily, taking another unapologetic drink.

"Sire…" Matthew pleaded, Francis' gloom worrying him.

"We are at peace with the Tundra and the River," Francis sighed, picking up on Matthew's mood, "We are broke, without allies, our army decimated and burning through our resources, but we are at peace."

"We…" Matthew started, wanting to say something of comfort but not sure what. No longer having to face the possibility of death the next day should have brought relief, but Matthew knew better. They were completely laid bare to the other kingdoms now, and it was only a matter of time until someone moved against them.

His primary worry was the Tundra, a kingdom having long lusted after the Mountain's boon of good farmland and the valuable metals rife inside the protective mountain range between the two territories. The current Tundran king, a man great in both size and power, made no secret of the fact that any truce with him and his people was very temporary, especially when it came to Francis' kingdom.

Then there was the River Kingdom, having instigated the current conflict three years prior. They had attempted to claim legal rights to the land surrounding a fork in the Warren River, a body of water that cut through the entirety of the small continent the three kingdoms occupied. This wouldn't have been much of an issue had the fork not been inside the Mountain Kingdom's territory as well as being a high traffic area for import and export. The ambassadors they sent claimed that the land had originally been theirs, and that the Mountain had been illegally occupying it for over a century. Though the two kingdoms weren't allies, the stunt still stung and the arguments were soundly rejected as ridiculous and pathetic. Matthew was particularly troubled during this period, his family's land being along the river bank on the eastern side of the Warren Fork. The problem inevitably ended up snowballing into an all out war between the two, with the Tundra jumping in like an opportunistic vulture later on.

There was also the troubling fact that both the Tundra and River Kingdoms had a fair number of powerful magic users at their disposal, where as the Mountain Kingdom had Matthew.

Matthew had long been appointed the official Court Magician by virtue of being the only candidate, and he fully felt the burden of being outclassed and outnumbered by the other kingdoms because of it. His skills were mostly funneled into illusionary tactics, something he was very inexperienced with but also something the magicians of the other kingdoms seemed incapable of performing all together. Even just that morning, Francis had used that little known tidbit to his advantage, having him expend almost all of his energy into concealing a squadron from view of the enemy troops until they mounted a charge down the very hill Matthew had just traversed on his way back to camp.

Nearly killing Matthew from the expense was well worth it, though, if it meant that the Mountain Kingdom had just bought itself some time to ready its defenses. So Matthew wasn't overly bitter about having to unsteadily crawl to his horse and make his return while barely conscious.

"We..." Matthew finally tried again, after Francis had started staring at him expectantly, "We still have time to figure out a plan to protect ourselves. There are the mining projects started in the lesser mountain area that are already bearing fruit, and we still control the Warren Fork."

"We do," Francis agreed, looking at Matthew pityingly as he readied to deliver the bad news, "But I've had my arm twisted into allowing the River Kingdom to freely take the Warren south into the Tundra and trade to them as much as they wish."

"You can't tax them for passing through?" Matthew asked, seeing the potential trouble that the unchecked passage of foreigners through their territory would cause.

"Not unless I want another war on my hands," Francis sighed, sitting down heavily on a small stool by the table. "In fact, they're trying to get me to agree to have the land around the fork declared as international territory."

"Surely they don't think you're stupid enough to agree on signing over your own land to them after they started a war with you?" Matthew couldn't keep the shock out of his voice, feeling the urge to take a drink of whatever alcohol Francis had been nursing as he thought of home.

"No, but they're going to attempt to maneuver me into a corner. We don't have much time to reinvigorate our forces and make them back off."

Matthew gnawed at his lip and hugged his body as tightly as he could while wearing armor. "Well, let me get some rest, and tomorrow I'll start brushing up on some spells that might change the river's flow to give them trouble if they try anything," he finally decided, feeling such a wave of exhaustion that he was tempted to sleep just out of sight of the tent mouth.

Francis merely nodded, waving Matthew away and throwing himself back into the scrolls before him with a grim expression that was alien to the usually smiling king.

The young knight took his leave and clumsily rounded his horse up from the small patch of grass he had taken to chewing as he waited for his master. Matthew led him back toward one of the many fires that the relatively uninjured cavalry and infantrymen had gathered around, already knowing he wasn't going to get the rest he desired that night as his thoughts were plagued with the future.


	2. Chapter 1

"Sir Williams," addressed the reedy voice of the gardener behind him.

Matthew stood up from the freshly dug earth he was kneeling before, turning to face the fierce old woman who reigned in the cloistered courtyard with an absolute power that not even the king had the privilege of questioning. He quietly absorbed the heavily lined face scowling at him from under a roughly woven straw hat, the pale light of a freshly born night and distant blazing torches making her look almost skeletal. Matthew felt she made a pretty picture as a shriveled garden fairy, emerging through the leafy green foliage and carrying the heavy scent of the late Queen Mother's roses.

"How may I help you, Rosalind?" Matthew asked politely, giving her a small smile.

"I should be the one asking," she groused, setting boney hands on thick hips, "You only come here when you're troubled."

"I was just a little restless, is all," he responded with a shrug, anxiously picking at the hem of his tunic.

"Liar," she countered bluntly, pulling off a dying leaf from a nearby sapling. Matthew didn't argue. "What did you plant?" she then asked, eyeing the dark patch of soil Matthew had been tending to.

"Cornflower seeds I found in the bottom of my bag when I was packing to come here."

"Huh! Strange place to leave seeds, but I'll see what I can do with them. Now, go to the feast. That fool of a king is going to need your level headedness tonight."

Matthew dropped his shoulders in exasperation, well aware of Francis' "dire" situation. He gave her a shallow nod that she returned with a creaky curtsy, departing toward the echoes of a celebration in the great hall.

He should have been in a better mood, considering the cause for said celebration would resolve most of the Mountain Kingdom's problems. After what was eventually dubbed the 'Triumvirate War,' the lords in court wasted no time in suggesting ways to cover the gaping holes left in their military and economy. They had considered everything from lengthening the conscription period, to exorbitant raises in land taxes, to even damming the Warren River out of spite. All such ideas were quite naturally waved aside by Francis, and they continued to worry over their problem.

After a couple years of uncertainty, talks with the Western Hills began for an alliance. Matthew had been cynical at first. The Duke of the Western Hills was famous for his neutrality, and he didn't think that any amount of groveling Francis did would get the man to help them. Matthew spent months away from home escorting Francis to the little pocket of land set between the Mountain Kingdom and the western most sliver of the Tundra, willing away long hours standing outside of large wooden doors while rumbling voices argued within.

He could only imagine the look of shock on his face when Francis strode out of those doors late one night with a smug grin, announcing his betrothal to the Duke's sister.

Matthew protested, of course. He argued that Francis was being too hasty and that they still had other ways of restrengthening their kingdom. Francis harshly reminded him that his magic hadn't gotten them anywhere yet, and the River was already sending droves of 'traders' south into the Tundra. Matthew fully felt the brunt of the insult, not speaking to Francis for weeks. Really, how was he supposed to know that he was completely incompatible with water magic? No one knew, or appreciated, the long nights he spent pouring over the few magic tomes available to him and experiencing hundreds of muddy backfires while practicing day after day.

Matthew was quickly snapped out of his reminiscing by a sudden burst of cheering as he rounded a corner. The hall was filled to the brim with colorfully clothed nobles and food laden servants moving about to their own ends, none paying any heed to the sheepish knight as he apologized and weaved through the crowd. He wound his way along the wall, not appreciating the fire he passed by contributing to the sweltering body heat of the room. He absently tried to decide whether he had been gone long enough for most of the patrons present to already be a rosy read from drinking, or if they found the heat disagreeable as well.

Finally, he reached a thinning in the crowd and spotted Francis sitting at the head table, crowned in a golden coronet and wearing clothes of a rich orange. Then, when a broad man had moved out of the way, Matthew saw the young girl that was his new queen sitting on Francis' left. The freshly ascended Queen Lily Zwingli sat stiffly atop her perch on the dais, observing those present with large yet intelligent eyes. Her plaited blonde hair was wound tightly by a purple ribbon, a fiercely guarded possession that she would not compromise on removing for her coronation, and atop her head a coronet of woven metal that matched well with Francis'.

Matthew took the opportunity to observe her further, having kept his eyes respectfully to the floor during the coronation ceremony. Before he could ruminate too long, he accidently caught Francis' eye. The older man grinned over at him in a way that was both friendly and commanding, obviously wanting Matthew to approach.

Not really wanting to, but knowing he had to, Matthew pushed through the crowd with slightly more force than he usually would have. The former grandstanding of the day had wound down enough that no one gave him a second glance when he climbed the dais to fully greet the new couple. He sorted himself in time to look up and see Francis pull away from whispering something in the young girl's ear. Her eyes turned on him with such focus, that he didn't have to wonder as to what Francis said to her.

"This is your magician?" Lily asked aloud to Francis with open wonder on her pretty, young face as she stared at Matthew unblinkingly.

Matthew was caught between wanting to smile at the child like demeanor, kindling a nostalgic fire in him, and treating his new Queen with the cordial respect she was due.

"Sir Matthew Williams of the Eastern Bank, Your Majesty." Matthew quickly bowed to hide the soft grin breaking through on his face as he made his own introduction.

"Well, I wouldn't call him _mine_, exactly. But he is the official Court Magician. His mother held the title during my father's reign and served him with the same skill and loyalty as Sir Williams has served me," Francis informed her with uncontained fondness.

"I don't doubt it," she responded absently, her olive colored eyes sharp and penetrative. "I've never met a magician before. All my knowledge is, sadly, second hand."

"Well, it's not that exciting, really. I'm a novice in every sense of the word, and there's little opportunity to practice my art."

"Oh, nonsense," Francis interrupted with a dismissive flourish of his hand, "He's simply being humble. If it weren't for his skill, then my troops wouldn't have been able to win the last battle in the war."

Matthew didn't respond, distracted by the approach of a slight, fair man with a comically sour frown under his flat cap, a diamond crest and a long eagle feather pinning it jauntily to the side in direct contrast to his sullen expression.

"Your Grace," Matthew greeted with more solemnity than he had Francis.

Duke Basch Zwingli gave Matthew a curt nod before paying his respects to his king and inquiring, "Your Majesty, would you be kind enough to let me borrow my sister for a moment?" His request was spoken with perfected politeness that didn't match the angry fire burning in his bright green eyes.

"Of course, my dear Duke," Francis said with a tight laugh and casually waving away his most powerful noble. The surly frown twitched down so minutely that Matthew wasn't sure he saw it before Zwingli had bowed and left, Lily politely dismissing herself moments after to follow her brother.

"It must be burdensome to you, my King, having such a… different addition to the Court as your in-law," Matthew commented primly after Duke Zwingli and Queen Lily were out of earshot, not feeling sorry for Francis in the least. He perfectly recalled how Francis practically jumped for joy during the negotiation of the family's marriage terms when he found out the Zwingli House wanted the Lily's ascent to the throne to be one of business and not one of a true wife. The deal left him free to continue to realize his self imposed reputation as a flirt and a cad with little repercussion.

Francis laughed with familiar smugness. "Well I got to add her brother's famous spears to my army out of it, as well as her sumptuous dowry. So who's the real winner in the end?"

'Not me,' Matthew thought sadly.

"Besides, Duke Zwingli is very easy to get along with so long as you never speak to him or his sister."

Matthew just sighed and shook his head.

"While we're on the subject of the Zwingli House, what _do_ you think of your new Queen?" Francis asked nonchalantly, but Matthew easily identified the anticipation in his tone.

"In time, she will perform her duties admirably," he responded, unable to forget the girl's age and presumed inexperience, no matter how well bred she surely was.

"I agree, and I think she will grow up to be quite pretty too," Francis murmured off handedly, scratching at the patch of beard on his chin as he observed the discussed siblings conversing off to the side of the hall quite heatedly.

"I wonder what the Duke will do once she's fully grown," Matthew thought aloud without any curiosity, more than confident that Francis had no real interest in her 'growth' despite his admiration of her.

"Happily commit regicide, probably."

"Not so long as you don't give him a reason to," Matthew warned in seriousness. Francis seemed to think the Duke would behave despite their animosity, but Matthew more than understood where his priorities were as a brother. He suspected that the noble wouldn't care if his king was only joking.

"Oh, I won't, do not worry there. He's made it clear there will be no consummation. I suppose he wants a clean annulment if he decides our partnership is of no benefit to him." Francis sounded thoughtful and slightly amused with the prospect, where Matthew felt somewhat hopeful. Maybe the Duke would use his power to act as a reasonable adviser to Francis, and Matthew wouldn't have to be called away from home so often because of it.

"Anyway, eat. Drink. I'm sure toiling in that silly garden has made you famished," Francis spoke up suddenly, deciding he didn't like where their current conversation was going.

"How would you know what I've been doing?" Matthew responded as a formality. They had both known each other long enough that they could read the other's moods and actions quite easily.

"You have that concerned expression on your face, and ruining dear Rosalind's garden has long been your habit to relieve stress."

Matthew hummed his response, ignoring Francis' jibe and halfhearted bait into talking about his recent melancholy mood. Instead, he took Francis up on his offer to drink, and kept to himself most of the night before sneaking away around midnight to retire.

The next few day passed with few noteworthy events, eventually leading Matthew to the morning he planned to leave back home, his packing abruptly interrupted by a sharp rap on his chamber door. Answering, he was silently handed a folded letter by a young maid, who quickly left before he could say anything. Looking down, he noted the insignia of the Zwingli house pressed into the dried wax holding it closed, and promptly broke the seal in half and found a summons to the new queen's chambers inside.

He fiddled with the edges of the parchment, staring blankly at the neat and flowing script running in horizontal lines like a decoration more than actual handwriting. He couldn't imagine what reason the queen could possibly have to want to speak to him directly, but he suspected it couldn't possibly bode well.

Folding the note back up, he stuffed it behind his belt and set out with his belongings still sprawled out messily around the room. By the time he started up the sharp spiral stairs to Lily's rooms, he started to feel his nerves seize up on him like they would when he was about to walk into an ambush. When he finally reached the heavy wooden door of his destination, he was mentally coaching himself that there was nothing to fear from a small girl with no magic and knocked softly several times after nervously clearing his throat.

His wait stretched an unusually long minute, and just when he was starting to panic and think that he had been mistaken with the note the door suddenly opened to reveal a handmaiden with glaring dark eyes on a surprisingly soft featured face. Without a word, she stepped to the side, allowing him entrance to the narrow but tall and well lit chambers that had housed every queen consort that ever lived in the Mountain King's castle.

Having seen the room before back when Francis' mother was infirm, Matthew ignored the impressive architecture to observe Lily, who sat at a small table by a thin window lined with diamond shaped panes. The light poured in generously from the sunny summer day, making for a lovely picture as it made her honey colored hair practically glow like a halo and smoothed out the few blemishes to her fair skin.

"Sir Williams," she greeted with a polite smile when she looked over at the door, setting down the cup she had been about to drink from.

"Your majesty," he replied with a bow, vaguely missing the days of Francis' informal bachelorhood.

"Have a seat would you?" she offered pleasantly, gracefully gesturing toward a spindly chair on the other side of the table from her. Matthew stiffly took her offer, having long ago discovered that a monarch's request was almost always a thinly disguised order.

"I hope to find you well," she went on, never taking her eyes off of him and lightly running a finger over the rim of her cup. Matthew nodded, unsure of whether to return the inquiry or not. The handmaiden from before suddenly appeared by his elbow, startling him more than he'd ever admit to, and poured him tea with an expression of irritation. Not wanting to be rude, and uncomfortable under Lily's open gaze, Matthew clumsily picked up the delicate china and darted his eyes out the window and toward the sweeping green expanse of hills outside.

He didn't want to come out and ask her what she wanted, even though his insides were contracting with nervous anticipation as the seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace. Lily also didn't seem very keen on ending his agony, slowly sipping at her drink with a look of serene composure. That was, until she set her cup down and looked up at Matthew with a stare that shot right through him, even though no ill will passed her clear green eyes.

"I'm afraid I must ask a great favor of you, Sir Williams." He almost laughed with relief when she so bluntly came to her point.

"Command me as you will, my Queen," he said with an amount of composure that surprised even himself.

She didn't seem to be expecting such readiness to serve, quickly glancing out the window and gently thrumming her fingers on the table before collecting herself. "I am to understand you live in the most eastern part of the kingdom, and that not very far from where you live is the Ibis Wasteland."

"Aye, Your Majesty. That is where my family's lands are, right on the Eastern Warren riverbank as my title suggests," he answered, mentally seizing onto her pointed mention of the wasteland.

People hardly spoke of that desolate part of the world. Usually not much was to be said of a barren desert whose sole occupants were dead trees, all looking like they were taken by some long ago fire that not even the history books seemed to remember. Matthew, living in the closest house of nobility to the wasteland, was treated with an even more intimate knowledge of the place than most. Though he had never visited himself, he was constantly treated to rumors of curses and devils. Once, an old drunkard started screaming in the town tavern how the wasteland was the entrance to Hell and all the trees were homes to bad fairies. Matthew was immediately impressed upon to get rid of the man, and still bore a scar on his elbow from a broken bottle for his troubles.

"There is a servant of my brother's who has been lost in the Ibis," she spoke again, dancing around the point but meeting his gaze steadily and directly.

"I've heard nothing of this, Your Majesty, and almost all news concerning the Ibis passes to me considering I'm the only magic user living within a hundred leagues of there."

"I understand that, Sir Williams, but this man was sent on a secret mission." Her tone suggested a level of guilt, something that seemed strange coming from a high ranking noble.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous, Your Majesty, but was our king informed of this mission, secret as it was?"

"Oh yes," she responded, eyes suddenly bright, "You see, His Majesty was given word by his spies in the River Kingdom that there were strange happenings in the villages closest to the wastelands. It would seem that the problems were magical in nature, and were starting to spread south into the Mountain Kingdom. Usually this type of predicament would be handled by the official Court Magician, but His Majesty was adamant in preserving you the trouble due to your physical and magical recovery from the war. Considering talks of my betrothal were going on at this point, my brother volunteered a loyal and valuable servant of ours who was fairly familiar with the workings of magic, if incapable of performing it. He set out to assess the situation, and seems to have fallen under a curse while there."

Matthew stayed in stony silence as Lily gently explained the situation, his breath catching when she mentioned Francis' concern for his condition. He should have known better than to think he could hide his slow recovery of his power over the years from the older man. He supposed his king felt guilty, considering it was Francis' battle tactics that had fatigued him so greatly.

"The affliction is quite terrible from what I've heard," she went on, and Matthew wondered if her sweet and reserved disposition had been an act, "It seems he made his way to the nearest township that he could, before succumbing to a great pain that seemed to have no source. It didn't take long before he discovered that the closer he returned to the wastelands, the less he hurt."

"You want me to find him and save him." There was no question in his phrasing.

"There is no one else to ask," she pleaded, suddenly looking like every day of the few years she had lived.

"I can't guarantee that there's anything I can do for him," he warned, staring down at where his bony fingers splayed along the intricate pattern of his stout cup still filled with tea.

"I understand that, but you're the only chance he has."

Matthew sucked his lips in between his teeth, his mind devising all the possible scenarios of his new strange predicament. "Francis and your brother are aware of this new mission of mine?" He asked more as a confirmation than a genuine need to know.

She didn't say anything, only reaching into her long sleeve and pulling forth another letter, this one with the royal seal of the Bonnefoy house. Matthew wasn't sure if he should feel insulted that Francis couldn't ask him in person.

"Don't be angry with his majesty," Lily spoke up, clearly reading the subtle hurt on Matthew's face. "My brother was quite adamant that you go, and they're both still arguing about it, actually, and have been since the first task was proposed. But our king knew the outcome was inevitable, and I sought to at least make you understand the situation before you left for home." Matthew didn't know what to feel about her presumptuousness. He supposed he admired her direct dealing with the matter. She was kind after all. Maybe too kind for a queen.

"I will leave a letter for his majesty explaining my agreement. It was originally my responsibility after all," he finally decided, already exhausted.

"I will personally see to its delivery," Lily responded over steepled fingers.

"I must ask for your leave now," Matthew spoke shakily. Lily smiled and shooed him away with a thoughtless wave of her hand that was meant to be friendly and not dismissive, Matthew standing up and leaving as quickly as he could while ignoring the scandalized look on the handmaiden's face for what she must have seen as insolence on his part.

Once at the base of the stairs, he took a moment to catch his breath, not realizing he had practically flown down the steps. As unfair as it was to Lily, Matthew couldn't help but dislike her as someone he would have to answer to. Years of being in Francis' favor had ruined his composure now that there were other people in the picture he would have to give his undying and absolute loyalty to. They had been married only a couple days, and he was already feeling the burden of being sent on an inevitable goose chase for some random servant he knew nothing about and more than suspected he couldn't do anything for.

Taking out the letter from Francis with the sudden curiosity of how it was procured, he opened it and devoured the ridiculously ornate cursive that didn't look half as nice as Lily's. Skipping over the opening of apologies and regrets, Matthew surmised that he was looking for a fair headed knight lost by a town south of where he lived.

"Helpful," he muttered darkly, stuffing his orders away with his earlier note.

He didn't take long finishing his packing, forcing his belongings in a rough sack with more speed and motivation than before. He then sloppily scrawled out his promised answer to Francis, assuring the king of his understanding. For he did understand, even if he didn't want to.

Leaving his letter with a servant to deliver to Lily, certain she'd keep her promise, he retrieved his horse from the stables and was off quietly with no fanfare or warning.

Summer was in its late hours, the bright day graced with a cool and constant breeze of the inevitable fall. Matthew steadfastly ignored the beauty of his surroundings as he moved off the dirt road to make way for a troupe of soldiers making their way toward the imposing castle walls behind him. Soon, the hills swelled in size before leveling off again and the castle was but a speck in the distance. Around late afternoon, Matthew rested under the shade of the thick, twisted limbs of a cork tree, looking out over an untilled field where creamy blue sky met with a dry field. With a twist of his stomach as his horse quietly grazed nearby, he couldn't help the paranoid notion that that was the last time he would ever drink in such a peaceful sight while the Ibis Waste seemed closer and greater than it did before.


End file.
